(Inspired by, and not to be mistaken for a literal interpretation of, this image created by @ShibariElla )
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(First, this is the ten seconds that JUST happened.)
“Wait. What? No, no, no, no. That’s not what she said….that’s….oh shit. I guess it technically is… Oh my fucking God, that’s rich. She did NOT just do that. Fuck. Hell no! Fuck. Fuck!!”
Those are the thoughts that explode inside my head as my head slowly calculates the reality of what just happened.
I won’t try to phonetically write out the anguished scream of rage and exhaustion that vibrated up from behind the deceptively large cone shaped rubber shaft of a gag ruthlessly wedging my mouth open. It would be a lot of “A’s” and “G’s” and “R’s” and “H’s” strung together. Definitely some “F’s” too. It would start off in capital letters but then sputter off to lower case letters. Then there’d be whimpering. And then there’d be a ‘brave’ inhale through my nostrils popping the little snot bubbles that had formed.
“Oh…oh no. Whew…”
I almost lost my balance. Standing on one leg isn’t awful, at least not until you’ve been there a while. Even so, it requires a bit of concentration. And my focus is split between what’s going on and what might be happening later. And then there’s also the blindfold. People underestimate all of the micro-adjustments the signals from your eyes trigger in your brain that keep you upright, all done without conscious thought. The coding for that kind of thing would take a team of 20-something year-old Tesla engineers months and who knows how many hot pockets to come up with. But we’ve had it in the mysterious “un-used” portion of our brains since forever.
Except for me. Not now. Now I have a lovely soft satin-feeling black-out blindfold firmly blocking out all external input to my eyes. It pisses me off how nice this bondage gear is. All of my stuff is homemade or re-purposed. I’d never actually take the time or spend the money to acquire actual bondage-in-mind crafted accessories and devices. It’s almost funny that now I’m hear totally fucking made helpless by them and I can’t enjoy the experience.
“Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself Tina. You’ll lose focus. You’ll lose your balance. You don’t want that.”
Fuck no. That’s one of the two things I am 1,000% sure of. I do not want to fall again.
.
.
.
Oh, you’re still here? What’s that? You want to know what the second thing is. Sure. That’s simple. The second thing is that the Dominant is still here. She’s in the room. She was obviously here in the beginning. And I don’t think she ever left.
Speaking of the beginning, let’s rewind.
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(A fair bit of time ago…)
I’m already annoyed, but I’ve been getting annoyed so dang easy anymore. That’s especially true where it relates to training. Information has been a one-way street which is not at all what I’m used to. Then again, that’s sort of the problem. An adult life of assertiveness doesn’t lend itself to the proper cultivation of a submissives natural habits or dispositions. I’ll never forget that. She made me write is 100 fucking times slightly different each line.
Online, or “remote,” training is just bound (see what I did there?) to have its limitations. We make the best of it. We take what we can from it and just deal with the drawbacks as they come. That was the deal. That was ALWAYS going to be the deal.
But now it got real. And it happened fast. And once again, I’m too used to controlling shit, so it’s a challenge. It’s a good thing, but my muscle memory fucking hates it.
So here I am. I’m in a weirdly empty old building that feels like it a cottage and a church had a baby. Is that roof thatch? What hemisphere is this?? I took three different transfers getting here with each bus a little smaller and little less occupied by then the last. Three hours of buses with the last 30 minutes being me, alone, and no air conditioning, and I was about the call myself an Uber and call it quits.
“Just get off the bus and listen, Tina.” I coach myself. It’s good that I coach myself. My voice is the one I listen to the best.
Anyway, I’m standing in front of the weird cottage/church house with a straw roof built, probably built by two out of three of the ‘Little Pigs,’ I’m buck naked under my obviously Carmen San Diego trench coat, and I just want to get this over with.
So I knock on the door.
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(Shortly after knocking on the door….)
I’m naked and I’m blindfolded. My wrists are in a bundle of loose rope loops. I smirked when the Domme tied them. It’s ridiculously obvious what’s coming. I wonder if she’ll be disappointed when I’m underwhelmed. Maybe I’ll throw her a bone and ACT all caught of guard and everything (inner giggle). While I’m doing my mental replay, the Domme is working on some decorative “shibari” network of ropes all over my body. She has cold hands, but it’s a cold room so that makes sense. She works slowly. She occasionally makes little “clicks” with her tongue. I think she does so to punctuate the completion of a knot, except there isn’t really a pattern. This is like the confusing nature of the training that I’d mentioned earlier. Everything SEEMS to have a specific purpose and place but I never get told what.
“You know why a Mistress is better than a Master, Tina?”
I was startled by her question. We’d been in a silence ordered by her since my trench coat and heels came off. And now a patented ‘vague’ question where I can’t possibly know the correct answer. A ‘set-up’ if you will. OK. I’ll answer…
“Probably the boobs Miss. Everyone loves boobs. Even gay guys like boob. So….yeah. Definitely boobs.” I allow myself to smile while I answer. After half a day of traveling and nearly an hour of ‘non-bondage’ rope knitting on my uncomfortably chilly body, I feel entitled to a little snarkiness.
“Incorrect.”
She went right back to layering the network of ropes, working her way up, like she’d never even asked. And I was getting played. She asked me a nonsense question with an answer that didn’t matter and now it’s driving me nuts not knowing what she wanted me to say. What was the answer? In fact, was it a REAL question? I was sure it wasn’t. It definitely felt like a test. Now I’m not so sure. Dang it! I want to ask. I bite my lip to stop myself. I’m not allowed to ask. Well, technically I’m still here voluntarily. No collar. She told me to be quiet. Was that a command or a suggestion? How did she phrase it again? No. It doesn’t even matter. I’m not collared. Shit. Was it a real question….
“And it WAS a real question, by the way.”
Oh shit, is she in my damn head?? She pulls a knot tight and I flinch realizing she’s up around my shoulders now.
“Ummm, OK. I guess…eewoooo.”
I wince as she rotate my loosely tied palm-to-palm wrists from down below my waist to up between my shoulder blades into an expertly tied reverse prayer. My elbows try to flare apart from the rapid and extreme flexing action but they find themselves held fast by that shibari ropework I’d thought was just pretty. My wrists, now crossed instead of flat against each other, suddenly fill out the once loose rope loops. The bands of rope creak but hold and dig tightly into my bare arms. It only takes her a simple cinch diagonally between my wrists to lock the whole reverse prayer into place. My breath gets caught in my throat. I feel her hands glide from where she had been tying my wrists and down the sides of my ribs. It feels like an invisible energy passing between my body and her fingertips as they glide just barely off of my curves.
“It’s because Mistresses are less protective, of course.”
“What…ullpppmmm…”
A long cone of hard rubber slides way, way back into my mouth and hits the back of my throat. My eyes bulge under the blindfold and I struggle in actual panic and feel alarm when that struggle results in absolutely nothing. I became totally helpless in barely a blink.
“A Master is always going to be defensive of a submissive. Especially a pretty one like yourself. They’ll see your body as valuable because of scarcity. Men think that way. Men worry about where they’ll find something again. Because they’ve evolved as hunters and gatherers. But we evolved as nurturers. And although your body is, in fact, very pretty. And your looks are also something rare, those are NOY the scarce commodities that I value. No. Not at all. What makes you scarce is that you’re HERE. You’re the only helpless submissive here in my control. That’s what makes you special. And really, when you think about it, that’s like a gift from me. You Miss. Because without it, you’re not that special at all.
The Domme pulled my Left foot up off the floor and bent it back behind me. She tied my ankle securely to the back of my thigh, forcing me to stand on one leg. She also tied my thighs together making me feel that much more controlled and compressed by the ropes.
“A Master’s protective instincts would all but force him to attempt to train a vulnerable, pretty thing like you with pleasure. He’s want to fuck his discipline into you. And although he might be rough, it would still just be a penis. And you’re a little bondage slut who gets soaked from a simple spread eagle so being stood up and fucked tied like this would eventually flood your mind with so many happy endorphins you would be floating mindless in pleasure clouds for hours when he was finished with you.”
The Domme tugged on a rope I hadn’t noticed before. She pulled it straight up behind me following my spine. When she did, I could feel the shibari ropework pinch sharply into my ribs under my breast and the crotch rope slice sharply up into my vagina. Everything was connected and coordinated and it gave me pain I was not prepared for. I struggled, but this time not IN-voluntarily. I know my gasp was audible this time. Shit. I wasn’t used to feeling weak like this. What happened?
“A Mistress isn’t limited like that, Tina. No. We are not. I know you’re valuable because you’re here. But if that changes, I can get another. You’re scarce, but not all that special. See the difference? So unlike a Master, I’m not afraid to damage the goods to train you into what you’re supposed to be. And that’s why you came here. Oh, I know we didn’t speak about it in those exact terms, but Dommes don’t really need to tell bondage sluts every single exact detail. You’re just a thing after all.”
She let me go and gave me a little push on the release. I feel myself sway and swing but I find my balance. I expect that cursed tether to assisted from it’s presumed anchor point in the ceiling but there is too much slack. It only goes taught once I’ve tilted and fallen far enough to make it a painful reminder for me. The design was devilish. It was also genius. It’s hard to get myself back up off the tether rope with just the one leg but I don’t have any choice as the Domme isn’t helping me. I find the strength. I continue shifting and struggling to keep my balance.
“Master’s want to make training you this big, complicated ordeal. They want props. They want food. They want costumes. They want mantras. And they want you to LOVE them. They want to extract so many orgasms from your mind and your body that you’re left with no thoughts and no feelings of anything but obsession with them and their cock.” She laughed. Mistresses don’t want any of that, Tina. We keep it so much more simple for you.”
I suddenly felt her breath on my neck and her fingers pinching and twisting my nipple.
“I just need to break you. You’ll stand there until your legs fail. And the threat of pain will make sure that we extract every single ounce of strength in that trained and toned body you brought me.”
The Domme slid three fingers into my pussy from behind. Oh my God I was flooding.
“And I also don’t give two shits about love, Tina. All I care about is that you get the message. And the message is that you’re mine.”
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(Almost 7 hours later….and mere moments from right now…)
The pain was unbearable. My right leg felt like it was on fire. My ankle was throbbing from rolling around. The ropes had rubbed and cut and bruised me inside and out from repeated falls on the tether. Mentally, I was almost done. I was so close to begging for it to end. But I remembered why I was here. Somehow, maybe it was from writing all of those lines out back when the training was remote, somehow, I kept my head. I knew the ordeal had to end eventually. I knew this was just a test. The Domme untied my ankle and helped easy my left foot down the floor. Instantly, I felt relief. My balance had been restored. I was so proud. I accomplished what I came to this goofy old-world off-the-grid cottage/church to do. I was a good girl…
“Half-way there, Tina.”
My right leg was so numb from suffering as long as it did I barely noticed as the Domme lifted that foot up and tied it up against the back of my hamstring. I stood on my left leg now, shifting carefully to maintain my balance, acutely aware of the tight burning lines pressing into me all over from the shibari ropework….